


Red Cloak

by hanadoesstuffwrong



Series: Origins [1]
Category: Red Shoes and the 7 Dwarfs (2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Character Development, Child Abuse, Gen, Growing Up, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, I got a little carried away, Many Original Characters - Freeform, Origin Story, Violence, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanadoesstuffwrong/pseuds/hanadoesstuffwrong
Summary: The tale of Little Red Riding Hood and the big bad wolf.
Relationships: Minor Arthur/Gwen - Relationship
Series: Origins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007802
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. White feather

5 years, 62 moons

Second moon of Winter

_Ffffffffshhhhh… Shffffffffffffff… Ffffffffshhhh…. Shfffffff._ Back and forth. Gwen swept her tail slowly, dragging scant, dark straw beneath it against the freezing floor. Moonlight played off of the thick, fluffy tufts of shimmering deep bronze fur, filtering in through the high, barred window and lighting up the floating haze of dust as it rose, glittering with every motion. Gwen wouldn’t have called herself bronze. Bronze was cold, hard potin coins and huge expensive cooking cauldrons. She wasn’t any of those things. She was warm. She was soft. (Her favourite word to describe herself was fuzzy.) Nobody had actually called her these things, so she’d done it herself. 

“It’s not coming out again, don’t you dare-”

“She’s your daughter!”

“ _It_ is an abomination!”

Mother’s voice; Father’s voice, and another sandwiched in between, one Gwen didn’t recognise. Gwen liked meeting new people, but nobody ever let her. Her mother was very beautiful and had lots and lots of visitors. They would come around to the manor in big, triangle hats tied around their chins with pretty coloured ribbons. Gwen never got any visitors, no matter how many times she sent out invitations and put on the biggest, pointiest triangle hat she could find. But this time, the new person was talking about a daughter. Gwen was the only daughter in the house. She lurched up excitedly onto all fours, ready to pull her biggest, pointiest hat out for the occasion, only to yelp as she was pulled back down by the throat. A nasty, mean, awful, metal scrape had joined the swish, swish of her tail over the ground. Gwen shook her head to dispel the new ache where the links had yanked against her neck and tangled in her fur. The chain slid maliciously back into place. A disgruntled champ of her jaws escaped as she settled back down and waited for the voices to carry on outside. They didn’t for a long time, but Gwen could feel eyes on her through the door. It was a very special door. They could see her but she couldn’t see them, and she thought that was a very mean thing to do. Gwen liked meeting new people. 

With wide yellow eyes, she decided they had finished talking and continued to gaze as her swishing, short little tail went back and forth, back and- a gentle flash of white broke the moonlight. Chains jingling, her head shot up. A single, snowy white feather drifted through the air, away from where her tail had inadvertently batted it. Gwen’s eyes followed it. So fluffy. She slipped into the position to pounce. Just like her.

“You can’t do this to her! You are her parents and it’s your job to-”

“Oh, so high and mighty! Remind me, where is _your_ daughter, _Lady_ Cendre?”

Like lightning, like falcons, like an arrow from a bow, Gwen stuck, pinning the silky thing down beneath her paws. The chain rattled behind her as she wriggled in triumph.

“Her father and I made as sure as we could that Ella would be protected before I left; and I miss her more than I can say. But with witches resurfacing all across the island I had no choice. King Uther himself has had to take in a Mage boy for his own safety. Besides, that has nothing to do with-”.”

“With why you think you’re better than us.”

“I never said-”

Inch by inch, so as not to allow her new captive to escape, Gwen lifted her paws. And they were empty? With a whine, she cast around the shadows for some bright flash against the steadily receding moonlight. On her second spin, something just fluttered out of the circle of light. She snatched at it blindly, pulling against the chain as hard as she could. She managed to bring her tiny paw crashing down on it at the last second before it flew completely out of sight.

“You didn’t have to _say_ anything! Well, go ahead, judge me all you want. The noblewoman with an animal for a baby. Then look back on the memories of your _Ella!_ Of how she looked when she first smiled at you, when she took her first steps. I’ve heard of your little girl, of how perfect she is, how her hair ‘falls angelically around her tawny cheeks’; how birds flock at the sound of her singing; How the Princess of the fairies herself practically begged to be the child’s godmother.”

Gently this time, so as to make absolutely, positively sure that it couldn’t get away, Gwen dragged it back into the light, wishing her claws were longer so she could keep hold of it.

“Now. Look what I get! Your baby girl is beloved by every king and queendom on the Island! While mine is- mine is-”

Just as she was getting the naughty feather back, electing that this time she would sit on it and stay there forever, Gwen felt a change in the room. What had been the feel of eyes on her before had gotten stronger, so she lifted her shiny black nose.

She wasn’t alone.

New person was a lady, a very tall lady, and she was standing in her own patch of light, where seconds before there had been a shadowy mass of stone wall. Except, her light wasn’t like Gwen’s moonlight, because hers glowed hot and bright, as though she were before a fireplace. She smelt like a fireplace, a really big, really hot one, all smoky, tossing charcoal dust and ashes all over pointy hats. Gwen liked fireplaces. Right now she wouldn’t mind rolling about in front of one on a big, soft mat made of feathers. Big, white, fluffy feathers. However, she wasn’t in front of a fireplace, she was in front of a lady, a very pretty lady. From head to toe she was draped in deep crimson, saffron accents melding with marigold lace to make it look like she was wearing a furnace. Over the dress was a thick cloak and wide riding hood in a deeper, darker, more fiery scarlet. On short, black hair, a golden diadem shimmered, letting fine, beaded tendrils hang down to frame a heart-shaped, tawny-coloured face that wasn’t frowning. When the lady looked down at Gwen, she saw that her eyes were amber and shining. It was a nice colour. Gwen liked meeting new people. It was a new friend.

Eager to impress her new friend, and without access to her tallest, pointiest hat within reach, Gwen did the only thing her instincts told her was appropriate. She bowed low, stretching her front legs far forward and leaning on her elbows, so that she could look up at the new friend from the floor. The chain jangled against her, but Gwen ignored it. She wanted to play. Her new friend didn’t move. She just kept still, looking down at her, something in her face that Gwen couldn’t fathom. Gwen tilted her head quizzically. If she didn’t want to play, what did she want?

During all the distraction that her new friend had caused, Gwen had abandoned her sacred duty to keep the bad, bad feather in place. Seeing its chance, clearly, the plume had somehow gotten free and now saw fit to make a mockery of Gwen by landing lightly on the tip of her pointy, black nose. And it sat there, waiting for Gwen’s eyes to lock on it. They did, but not before her entire, little body could be flung backwards by a powerful sneeze. Now Gwen was twice as grumpy as she had been before (that being, not very), and twice as determined to find that presumptuous feather and make it pay for its crimes. She immediately wriggled to put herself on her feet and set to locating the offensive piece of downy fluff. Yet, she wasn’t so lost in her hunt for revenge that she didn’t stop to listen to the crackling, flickering sound that filled the cavernous room as the new friend laughed. After shaking straw off of her head, Gwen found herself laughing too, purely because it felt so nice to do it with someone else. Except, her laughter came out in more of an energetic barking than actual guffaws. Still, it was fun all the same.

“Yours-” the lady said with glamping eyes and a curly smile, her accent was thick like Gwen’s mother’s friends from the French colonies, the ones whose faces always looked a little too shiny,“-is a little fighter.”

Gwen positively beamed. That was a new word for her. Now she was a warm, soft, fuzzy little fighter. It was such a nice word not like what the others had called her: ‘A freak’, ‘an aberration’, ‘a mutant’, ‘a demon- 

“A monster!” Her father’s voice. The glow was gone, the friend was gone. Not even the smell of smoke remained. Behind the lingering sound of her father’s shout, Gwen could hear the patter of drops falling on silk, and of soft sobs scraping her mother’s throat. All Gwen was left with was the feather, lying where the lady had been, although now, she didn’t really feel like chasing it down. Everything felt like it had weights on. Around her, like a cloud under a burning sky, the circle of moonlight was fading and with it, lilac light was being spread like watercolour by the steady, rose-kissed fingers of aurora. 

“Get out of our home! Leave me and my wife to see about our business as we see fit!”

Heavy.

“That girl has barely been alive half a decade, and already you have found some fault to take with her. What could she have done to you? Why do you hate her for something she will never be able to control?”

Numb. Heavy. Slowly falling. Red cloak. Fireplaces. Heavy. So, so heavy.

“It is _evil!”_

Her mother’s voice. Crying. Feather. Heavy. Heavy. Cloak. Hood. Hat. Falling. Triangles. Red.

“Evil?”

Heavy- he- heaving. New- Red cloak. Riding hood- hood. Riding. Red- red- rest- wreck. Red. Swish, swish, swish, swish...

“Evil indeed.”

_Ffffffffshhhhh… Shffffffffffffff… Ffffffffshhhh…. Shfffffff._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! In case you didn't know, Gwen is my headcanon character for the little red riding hood werewolf from the end credits. I know I should be writing chapter three of Online, but y'know... Uni applications need to be procrastinated somehow!
> 
> This is the first in a short set of snippets from her life before she is crept up on by Jack in the forest. It's a bit dark, but hey, this is based on a movie in which a you see a girl start graphically transforming into a tree.  
> Feel free to leave a comment, any feedback is appreciated :)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this and you have a lovely day!!


	2. Blue Glass I

7 years, 91 moons

One week to the second moon of Summer

Everything ached in all the worst places. Gwen felt as though every muscle had been unravelled and stretched to their fullest capacity, then rapidly rolled up again and shoved carelessly back between her bones. Her own skin was too tight, a natural, irremovable frock that pinched and squeezed.

“I’m all squished!” Maybe this particular grievance called for a little more eloquence, but being seven and in a foul mood, Gwen simply pouted her pink lower lip up at Cyneburga. Rolling her eyes, but with maybe at least a little sympathy for her charge, the large, matronly nursemaid briskly adjusted the girl’s rough, hessian collar, pulling her fingers away, cautiously avoiding her jaws. Gwen noticed, and ran her tongue curiously around her teeth. They weren’t sharp at the moment. Gwen knew exactly how sharp they could be on the special nights, having been unfortunate enough as to latch on to her own tail several moons ago. Cyneburga didn’t seem to trust that she always looked the same during the day, and usually at night too. It was just the special nights. Gwen liked the special nights.

Cyneburga had arrived fifteen moons ago- Gwen always kept scrupulous records of what happened between the special nights- in a big carriage filled with boxes. Her hat, to Gwen’s dismay, had been a horrible, cream, squarish neck thing, refusing to let even a single stray hair slip beneath it. To this day she didn’t know what the old lady’s hair looked like. She couldn’t imagine it being very pretty. She wasn’t wearing anything very pretty: A grey shawl over a greyer overdress. But Gwen never wore anything pretty, and Gwen’s hair was always a mess. Yet, as time went on, it became apparent that nothing about Cyneburga was  _ pretty _ . At first, Gwen had thought she looked nice, if a little frightening. She had the bear-like figure of someone who might give big, cuddly hugs. Her face was round and her eyes crinkled, giving the impression that she was much inclined to hearty laughter. That impression was wrong. It was under good authority, Gwen had it, that Mistress Cyneburga had never so much as smiled. Her mouth was a lipless cut in her face and so far Gwen had listed seven things she had found it capable of doing: Tutting, frowning, screaming, scowling, grimacing, shouting and hissing. Cyneburga did a lot of hissing. Mostly into Gwen’s ear. Her large stature wasn’t built for cuddles as much as they were for putting strength behind her carefully aimed slaps.

Obviously, the fixing of a collar did nothing to alleviate the nasty ache or the pinchiness or the hunger that had decided to rear its horrid head. Still, Gwen knew that any more complaints would get her locked up in the backroom of her parents’ manor, as well as a fist to the nose. Cyneburga had once said with emotionless observation that her nose must have broken after being punished for grabbing her mother’s skirts, but after an hour of bleeding, the searing pain had subsided and numbed until it had disappeared entirely. Still, it was not an experience she was eager to relive. Besides. Today was a special day.

Gwen had special nights all the time, when the moon was round and huge in her eyes and glinting off of her furry coat. But this was a special  _ day _ . And no matter how uncomfortable or achy she was, she wasn’t going to let it fall to pieces. Gwen liked special days.

For two weeks now she had waited. The promise of one special day had come from one particularly good, and thus particularly strange evening:

_ Gwen’s mother and father came in from their daily hunt in high spirits. Very high spirits. Even from her usual place behind the banisters of the manor stairs, Gwen could tell how happy they were. Curious, she had strained her ears to listen to what made them smile and laugh so much. Before she knew it, she was smiling and stifling laughter as well. Her parents were happy and she wanted to join in. That was a mistake. First came a set of very recognisable, and very angry footsteps on the stairs above, and then a loud hiss of Gwen’s name. Her name wasn’t Gwen. Nobody, and especially not Cyneburga had ever called her Gwen. But her real name was long and sticky and hard to say, so Gwen had, after many failed attempts, figured it would just be easier to say the first bit than to spend several minutes saying your own name wrong. Introducing oneself was the first, and arguably the simplest step in making new friends. She had to get it done right. _

_ The sound of her long name laced with anger from behind was startling. Not much usually startled Gwen. Any other day and she would have heard the large lady’s footfalls yards down the corridor. Today was unlike any other day. Gwen’s fingers failed to clasp the banister for a moment and it was in that moment that her smock caught under her feet and everything came literally crashing together, her heels over her head as she tumbled down the last few steps and onto the manor’s entrance floor. _

_ In the silence that followed, Gwen closed her eyes and waited for the slap. _

_ It didn’t come. _

_ Footsteps. Thud, thud, thud until… Gwen’s father crouched before her, his face crinkled in an unreadable smile and his eyes sparkling with unusual joy. She had never seen him look like this before. Although, to be fair he had never been so close to her before. Not when the muzzle wasn’t on. _

_ “Hello.” Her father’s voice. But somehow, also, not her father’s voice. Her father’s voice was big and loud. It thundered and split the air until Gwen’s ears hurt. This was not her father’s voice at all. It was quiet. It was nice and soft and warm. Gwen liked it. This was a pretty voice, whoever’s it was. “What have you been up to?” _

_ “Listening.” She answered, not sure why he wanted to know. It was probably because she’d been doing it wrong. It shocked Gwen when he threw back his head and laughed. The voice had a deep, rumbling laugh that made Gwen laugh along with it. _

_ “We have ourselves a little scout. Wouldn’t you say so, Ganhumara?” Yuck, Gwen did not like that word. Gan-lum-u-wara. So many pieces. That was not a very pretty name. Then Gwen’s mother stepped forward at his words and it was the most beautiful name she had ever heard. _

_ “It seems that way, Leo.” Her mother’s voice. A little more familiar and that was both reassuring and upsetting all at once. Her mother’s voice was ice. Thin ice. Hard, cold, burning, not nice. It didn’t rage and roar like her father’s, it tapped and plucked like frozen fingers playing an old instrument. The cold was still, there, but it was softer. Time after time, the ice in her mother’s voice had cracked and splintered. Now it seemed to be melting. Maybe it was going to go now. Gwen would like that very much. _

_ “My Lord, my Lady please forgive me.” Cyneburga was on her, one big hand clamping shut around Gwen’s wrist. “Guinevere-” Hissing again. Her mother’s voice was ice. Her father’s voice was thunder. Cyneburga’s was a hiss. _

_ She braced herself to be dragged away. Again. _

_ “Oh no, it’s alright, Dame Cyneburga. Actually, we have something we’d like to speak with Guinevere about.” _

_ Oh. That had never happened before. _

_ After leading her to the Great Hall with a wave of his hand, Gwen’s father told her about a new friend they had made. A very special lady who could help them. Who could help her. Gwen’s thoughts laced the line between confused and excited. She wasn’t sure what exactly the lady was going to help her with. Maybe it was a game, a contest, and the lady was going to help her win. That would be fun. At the forefront of Gwen’s mind, though: They were talking to her, telling her things, asking her questions. She liked it. Pale fingers even reached out to gently touch one of her mousey blonde braids. As her mother commented on possible styles, Gwen saw how her fingers trembled, receding to rest on her own thicker, darker locks that lay over the dark green riding hood she was wearing. _

_ Hood. Scarlet. Fireplaces. Fire. Red. Cloak. Riding hood. Red. Fighter. Pictures flashed about inside Gwen's head, only to be forgotten as quickly as they were recalled. Her mother and father were talking to her because they wanted to! _

_ "It's going to be a very special day, Guinevere. And afterwards, we'll all go on holiday for a whole year, just the three of us!" That sounded like lots of fun. Gwen and her mother and her father, laughing all day and speaking in pretty voices that weren't theirs. Maybe they'd go somewhere with enough space for her to spend the special nights outside, running around under the moonlight. She could find other little girls like her. They could race and play and she could show off how long her claws were getting and- It was going to be so lovely! _

_ As little as she wanted their talk to end, Gwen was practically bubbling with excitement. Her father eventually told her to run along, his eyes wrinkling at the corners and glistening as if he desperately needed to blink all the while. Gwen's reluctance dissipated as she searched about for the correct ingredients to construct the biggest, tallest, pointiest triangle hat she could imagine. All in preparation for her special day. _

Today was, at last, that day.

Glass Stonebury was a town that lay just off of the straight road leading to the Royal city of Camelot. Since hearing its name, Gwen had also heard it called a ‘lay-by’ or a ‘traveller’s market’, and even a ‘Dirt-poor rat-mound’, but to her, it was the place where the rest of the world collided. It was the eye of a storm except this storm was one made of sights and sounds and smells. Colours and voices and smoky, steaming breeze. People were everywhere, some calling out places and speaking of faces she knew of, but many saying things she couldn’t even begin to understand. Men and women thronged the sides of the long street, their wares extended into the passer-by or draped over arms, not one of them sharing features with another. So many new things to see, so many new people to meet. Gwen liked meeting new people.

Though, she would have preferred if the sun could stay in bed for one afternoon. Everything was always stiff when it wasn’t a special night, but daylight was a rolling pin squashing and squeezing every inch of her so that she stretched and shrivelled like dough under the confines of her skin. Pulling at her collar a little more, Gwen eyed a wide-brimmed straw hat where it languished under a canvas stall ceiling. Her dark blonde hair felt singed under an incandescent glare. The triangle-hat had not been an option, one of her parents’ main objectives being to not be noticed. Gwen hadn’t been happy when Cyneburga knocked her haphazardly constructed, very pointy headpiece from her hands and replaced it with brown, hessian trousers with a beige overdress and simple chord belt. Her cloak was grey. Gwen asked for a red one. Cyneburga left a bruise on her cheek for that. Gwen didn’t ask again, and the greenish, bluey, purpling skin next to her eye rapidly turned yellow and then back to pale cream. Gwen watched it happen in the looking glass beside her bed.

Any distaste for the clothes had dissipated when Gwen laid eyes on her mother. She wore much the same, but on her, it could have been spun for the Queen of Camelot herself. Her mother’s head was bare, half of her cinnamon tresses tumbling down her back while the other lay atop it in a tricky looking plait. Gwen decided to make do with the dress and trousers, but the cloak still bothered her. It had no hood so Gwen resisted the urge to hold the bottom of it up over her head.

They had been making their way through the streets of the town since they had arrived. Her parents had disappeared into the throng of busy bodies, leaving Gwen, with matching smiles and some muttered instructions for Cyneburga. At first Gwen had reached out to grasp her mother’s skirt to stop her, before something in her face started stinging until she lowered her small hand back to her sides. The pain had been fleeting, like a ghost of something she had felt before. Gwen didn’t want them to go. This was  _ their _ special day. Why were they running away from her? This question had been forgotten rapidly as the itchy discomfort that was sunshine set in.

Gwen was about to complain again about the horrid tightness in her shoulders and chest when her attention was caught by something else. A new smell? Gwen liked new smells. She didn’t like this one. Five moons ago a man had come to the manor with some cows. They weren’t very pretty cows, although Gwen hadn’t gotten a very good look at them, having been hurried inside by Cyneburga as fast as she had peeked out of the front door. But she remembered the smell. They had smelt very, very bad. Like the moat under a lavatory but with worse breath. This smell was like that smell, but not. It was new. Between the stench of mud and waste lay something that Gwen recognised very quickly.

Blood. Thick and hot and churning. Gwen didn’t like it. The smell got stronger with every step she took, as if it were walking toward her as much as she toward it. Gwen didn’t like it.

Then everything turned white as the world exploded. Gwen felt herself fall and her shoulder smash against cobblestones. It hurt lots, but not for very long. When she sat up Cyneburga was gone. Or not? Gwen didn’t know where she had gone. Gwen didn’t know anything. Everything had turned into shouting and swimming smog as the ground opened up beneath the town. Shadows moved in the haze, and a lowing growl bounced over her ears, fading away with clumsy, galloping strides.

Gwen wanted her mother.

*******

Eventually, Gwen sat up, unclasping her cloak from around her shoulders since it had gotten stuck underneath a mound of splintered stall. All of the new people had scattered and Gwen couldn’t see anyone. She thought she saw somebody in the fog as a pair of massive shoulders emerged, the new smell clinging to them. But then Gwen realised that it was just a large cow. Unless people suddenly had cow heads instead of people heads. Gwen thought that was very funny and started laughing. At least she thought she’d started laughing, until she rose a hand to her face and it came away hot and wet. Then Gwen noticed the sobs that wracked her already uncomfortable body painfully. She didn't think  _ they _ were quite so funny and shut her eyes tight, hugging her knees.

This was her special day. Why was it going wrong?

“Are you crying?” New voice. New person. Gwen liked meeting new people. Head springing up like a crossbow bolt, she glanced about for the source of the voice. At first her eyes didn’t notice the girl that knelt in front of her. Nor the way the dusty fog was receding. 

Gwen gave her a quizzical look. She was tall, definitely taller than Gwen was, and older too. Everyone was taller and older than Gwen, her being a very small girl. Except on the special nights, when she reached up to at least her father’s waist on all fours. Gwen liked the special nights. And she had been liking the special day until minutes ago.

“Oh, you are crying.” The girl had long brown hair in a messy braid over one shoulder, a shade darker against her light brown cheek; and frightening green eyes. They were a bit too green. Gwen thought they were very pretty however and tried to smile, disregarding the fact that tears were still pouring down her cheeks and pooling on her knee. The girl didn’t seem to notice anyway. Held loosely in her hand was a long stick, a big hook shape at one end and a javelin-like point at the other. “There’s no need to cry about it, this wasn’t even a very big one.” Gwen’s smile turned upside down. Confusion set marbles skidding in her head.

“A very big what?”

“Have you found ‘em Bo?” More voices. New people? The first new person didn’t turn around to look for them, maintaining a disconcerting stare at Gwen’s forehead.

“Nope, just another camel.” Camel? Gwen wasn’t a camel. Where was the camel? Gwen had never seen a camel before. How big were they? Oh, more new people were coming!

“We’ll look under the Glass again, Mini’s moved on, heading up to the next village, but I still reckon the market’s done for today. Muffy’s checking Doctor Foster’s.” A pair stepped into what had become an empty street, a girl and a boy. Gwen felt a leap in her chest. New people! Other little girls and boys! Okay they weren’t exactly little, they were quite big, but not grown-ups. Not for the first time, Gwen’s heart yearned for her tallest, pointiest hat, but for now she’d have to go without. Still, she tried hard to straighten the hem of her overdress, wincing as the rough collar scraped her throat again.

“Can we go grab her before we go? I need to collect another poultice from the doc for my idiot brother’s head.” The second girl said. Gwen decided she liked her. Her hair was pale brown like wet straw, cut around her face to have spiky edges. She was wearing black, baggy trousers and a short teal overdress that didn’t reach her knees. Her belt was pale pink and woolly, a small hip-bag looped through it, and around her shoulders there hung a dark blue hood. This one was thin and not made for riding, but it still brought pictures and words to Gwen’s thoughts.

Riding. Red.

When the spiky girl’s grey eyes fell on her, Gwen tried her hardest to look friendly again.

“Who’s that Bo?” She asked the first girl. Was her name Bo? That was a nice name.

“I don’t know. I was going to-”

“Why haven’t you asked?” The third person, the boy in a purple waistcoat, cut in.

“Because you two showed up,  _ Horner-” _

“What’s a mini?” Gwen heard a little voice ask. Everyone looked at her. Oh, that had been her own voice. She hadn’t intended to say anything, but now she was too curious. What  _ was  _ a mini and where had it gone?

“What’s a wha-” The boy, (Horner? Another nice name,) spluttered a bit. “Mini? Y’know,  _ Minotaur? _ Big guy, not very chatty, cow’s head, burst out of the ground in a massive explosion several minutes ago? Happens every other week.” Gwen’s eyes probably popped out of her skull, but the boy continued nonetheless, “Eats human flesh, does that ring a bell? They say his mum got a bit carried away with a-  _ Ow! _ ” The girl who was standing next to Horner smacked him around the arm. Bo rolled her eyes and stood up. Gwen panicked a little as she walked away, but stopped quickly as the other girl, the spiky one, replaced her, kneeling close to her side. Gwen tried to say that she liked her hair, but no words came out before the other girl was talking,

“Please ignore Horner, he’s a moron.” Gwen laughed and the girl smiled at her, laughing a little as well. Gwen liked it a lot. “My name’s Jill. Are you lost?” So many nice names! Gwen nodded happily. She  _ was _ lost and didn’t know where she was, but she was also having lots of fun. Jill didn’t look as happy though, and she sounded worried about something when she spoke again. “Okay, it’s alright, we’ll look after you. Are you here with your parents?” Gwen got ready to shake her head in a no. This was a fun game and she was looking forward to her turn to ask a question. Her parents were never-  _ Her parents! _

Gwen was trying to bolt to her feet before she knew what she was doing. Where were they? Had they been eaten? Were they worried? This was supposed to be a special, special day and Gwen had spoilt it! They wouldn’t go on holiday with her now that she’d been so naughty! They didn’t want her, they didn’t- 

Every single inch of her body screamed at once. The sun was high in the sky above her head. It all hurt, it all hurt so much! Tears flooded out of her eyes and she dug the heels of her hands into them, or she tried to, her hands hurt too much and she soon had to hold them around her middle in an attempt to quiet the stinging. Everything was white lights and black spots, red fluttering between them. 

Fluttering, red. Red cloak. Red hood.

And it was all so hot. Fire lapped at her lungs with grizzly tongues, chewing the soft marrow of her bones. Gwen didn’t like it. Gwen wanted it to stop. Gwen wanted her mother.

_ Monster! _

_ It is evil! _

Gwen wanted her mother.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re alright.”

“Where does it hurt? Can you point to where it hurts?”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

_ “Horner!” _

“It’s a rational question!”

“Her eyes aren’t-”

“Would both of you shut up! Shh, it’s okay. I know it’s really bad, but you need to tell us what hurts and we’ll go get someone to help you.”

New people? Gwen liked meeting new people. Everything seemed to be calming down. Her fingers and toes were numb and her chest burned and heaved, but at least it was settling into that uncomfy, pinchy ache again. Gwen opened her eyes and saw clouds. The sky was filled with clouds. Big, lovely clouds the colour of bruises, that rolled and crackled like a murder of amythest crows soaring as one.

Somebody stuck four fingers in front of her eyes for a second and Gwen heard a yell as they were slapped away. Three faces leaned over her. The new people that she wanted to meet!

“Stop it, Horner- Hey, are you okay?” Jill asked her, and Gwen felt something on her back. It wasn’t until she felt it pressing as she struggled to sit up, that she realised it was the older girl’s hand. People didn’t like touching Gwen. Unless of course, after they pulled away, a sharp, dark purple mark was left behind. Nobody helped Gwen up, that was to be expected. And yet that was exactly what Jill was doing. Gwen stared at her like  _ she  _ was the one with a cow’s head. Jill didn’t notice. Bo and Horner also leaned down and looked at her.

“She was lying on the ground near to the explosion, so it probably knocked her down. She’s probably just in shock.” Bo told the other two, standing so that she could lean on her big stick, and Jill’s hand adjusted on Gwen’s back, her other one coming up to touch lightly against her forehead. Gwen stilled at the contact. This was different and strange.

“I don’t think she’s concussed, maybe it just struck a nerve.” Bringing her hand down, Jill looked down at Gwen with something in her face that Gwen didn’t recognise. It was like she was worried about something but also not. Or maybe she was trying to act like she wasn’t worried about something. Why would she do that though?

“How old are you?” She asked Gwen and Gwen answered instinctively,

“Ninety-one moons.” Blank faces were her only response.

“So, around seven and a bit then, yeah?” All eyes, including Gwen’s, turned to Horner. He simply shrugged smugly.

“Even a  _ moron _ can listen in Doctor Fell’s lessons if he gets bored enough. I’m more than just the plumb picker, you know ladies.” Bo’s eyebrows rose so high they got lost in her fringe and Jill shook her head at the boy, turning her attention back to Gwen, who had been watching with stars in her eyes. She liked listening to them talking.

“Okay, so you’re seven. Do you live in the Royal city?” Camelot? Gwen did not live in Camelot. That was where the king and queen lived, with their three hundred children and baths made of solid gold. Accordingly, Gwen shook her head and decided it was her turn to ask a question,

“How old are  _ you?” _ Technically she was cheating, they’d already asked that question. Maybe she should ask them something else. But Jill looked happy enough with the question and not at all upset that she wasn’t playing the question game properly.

“I’m fourteen.” She gestured to each of the others in turn. “This is Jack Horner, he’s fourteen as well; and this is Bo Peep, she’s fifteen.” Her voice dropped a little lower, “but only by a very little bit.” Bo shoved her in the shoulder and Gwen giggled. This was nice. Jill was laughing as well and sticking her tongue out at her friend.

“Okay, so you’re seven and you’re not from Stonebury or Camelot. Do you know where your parents have gone?” White light. It was happening again. Gwen braced for everything to hurt again. And then it didn’t, the ghost of the horrible, horrible feeling from before came and went. Her mother. Her father. She didn’t know where they were. They were going to see someone very special; someone who was going to ‘help’ her with something. They’d run away from her. Gwen shook her head and didn’t cry. Jill nodded her head and rubbed circles in the back of Gwen’s overdress. The motion made Gwen want someone to wrap her up in their arms and never let go. Gwen wanted a big, big, big hug. Gwen wanted her mother.

“That’s okay, we’ll help you find them again. We’re actually looking for some of our friends, do you want to help us find them as well?” Yes she did, more than anything. More new people! More new names!

“Yes! Yes I want to!” She said, because simply nodding would never express the height of her want to do just that. This was fun! Now she wanted to ask a question again. She looked up at Bo, who seemed unnerved by the sudden attention. “Why did you say I was a camel? I’m not a camel.”

Bo looked sheepish and didn’t answer as Jill and Horner laughed. Horner ended up answering for her.

“Because she thought you were from Camelot. You’re wearing the kind of clothes that nobles wear when they want to pretend to be peasants to get away with doing shifty stuff.” He examined his fingernails gracelessly. “Not that peasants ever get away with anything, it’s just if one of  _ us _ steals a loaf of bread we get put in the stocks for a week. If one of you people does it, it’s bye bye big fancy King’s court, hello Old McDonald.” He finished his statement by brushing his hands together exaggeratedly as if getting rid of flour or something. Gwen wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but Jill and Bo were both nodding resignedly, so Gwen started doing it too. At least Bo hadn’t thought she was an actual camel.

Jill had started levering her arms up as if to put Gwen on her feet, but once her legs started holding her up, every muscle in her body groaned in protest until Gwen made a loud, unhappy grumbling sound, urging Jill to put her back down. The girl sat back on her haunches and looked like she was thinking carefully. In the meantime, Gwen had another question.

“Who are your friends that you’re looking for?” Gwen asked Horner matter-of-factly to fill the wordless hole. The boy blinked his blue eyes at her before he seemed to remember what she meant.

“Oh, they aren’t so much our friends as Bo’s, you see, my dear overpaid shepherdess friend Bo here-” A hand covered by Bo’s long fingerless gloves clamped over the his mouth as she whispered threateningly,

“Don’t even-  _ Geughahh!”  _ Horner grinned as the hand which he had apparently licked to get off of him was pulled away.

“She’s lost her sheep!” He got a rough shove to the shoulder. "One job! She had one job!" He shoved the girl back and soon enough they were in a heap on the ground, fighting untidily in the dirt. It made Gwen laugh as she silently cheered Bo on from where she sat.

“I know!” Jill’s voice was startling, as she’d been thinking to herself for a while. Now standing, hands on her hips, she turned to her wrestling friends. “Bo, get off of Horner so he can put the kid on his back. We’ll take her to the Glass and leave her at the Great Hall with the Castellan, she’ll be able to find her family for sure. We’re heading to Doctor Foster’s on the way, so we’ll ask him to have a look and see if she’s seriously hurt.” She clapped her hands together when neither of them moved, “Come on, up we come!”

“What? Why do I have to carry her? Why can’t Bo?” Horner complained, rolling his shoulder as if to get the impression of Bo’s knee out of it.

“Because you’re the biggest.”

“No I’m not, Bo’s taller  _ and  _ older  _ and  _ stronger than me.”

“You don’t  _ know _ that she’s stronger than you.”

“Actually, me and my mullered arm know that very well, thank you.”

“Don’t care. Bo has to keep an eye out for the sheep and carry her crook. You’re not doing anything at the moment, so stop being a baby and help.” Horner just grumbled at the ground. “ _ Please.  _ You’re worse than my brother! _ ”  _ Suddenly Horner’s face became very offended, a hand came up over his chest. Gwen was confused.

“How  _ dare  _ you!”

“Alright, I’m sorry, I took it too far, could you please just pick the kid up?” Gwen wasn’t sure how she felt about being called ‘the kid’. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d been called, but it wasn’t that great. She went to tug at Jill’s sleeve but then the ghost pain came back into her face and she dropped her hand. Luckily Jill noticed anyway.

“Is everything alright? You don’t have to get on his back if you don’t want to, we can just wait here for your parents to come back if you’d rather do that.” Gwen very much did not want to do that. Her parents wouldn’t come back to look for her there, and Cyneburga would have by now if she was going to. She shook her head.

“I want to tell you my name.” 

Jill smiled and nodded. She did a lot of nodding.

“Okay, what’s your name?”

This was it. Gwen had been waiting for that very question as many moons as she could remember. She had a name, and it wasn’t long and sticky. It was just the start of a long and sticky name that she could never get right. She was going to get it right. Unless she shouldn’t use her little name. Maybe they needed to know her long name so her mother and father would find her. Gwen wanted to tell the nice girl her name. But Gwen also wanted her mother. Gwen wanted her mother and her mother wanted  _ Guinevere _ .

So she twisted her tongue about in her mouth, scrunched up her nose and tried to say her own name. It came out in one long garbled mess.

“Gerbabear?” Jill attempted, confusedly. Gwen shook her head and tried again. “Gellanear? I don’t- Guenuuare? I don't understand. How about I just call you Neri? Is that okay?” Gwen wanted to argue, Neri was not very pretty at all. It rang in her ears like something unfinished or undressed. Neri sounded like pie filling, desperately in need of walls.

“Okay, Neri, are you okay with Horner carrying you on his back. It shouldn’t hurt as much as walking, but he won’t if you’re not okay with it.” Gwen did even more nodding and felt her happy mood rushing back. Still griping, Horner knelt down in front of Gwen and reached a hand back. Standing up enough to climb on proved to be intensely achy and horrible, but the pain was nowhere near as scorching as before. Those amazing clouds had darkened even more and were now spitting drops of rain onto her face and clothes. 

The boy’s shirt was patchy and the violet waistcoat he wore over it was made of rough stuff that scratched where Gwen touched it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist so that when he stood up he could loop his own arms around them. The hair above the nape of his neck was thick and black as pitch, smelling distinctly of plums next to Gwen’s head.

“All okay back there, Tiny?” He asked, not looking around.

“Yep!” She answered happily. Tiny was a nice word. The rain had started to fall and every drop was like lightning on her skin. Gwen was usually taken inside if it ever started raining. On the off chance that she was ever outside to begin with.

“Good, because you weigh a ton.” He said it like a complaint, but it made Gwen laugh because she knew she didn’t weigh a ton, and she could see him smiling in the corner of her eye.

As they set off through what was now a cleared street with a massive, debris-surrounded hole in the cobbled ground, Gwen decided there was one more thing she wanted to say to these new people. Or rather, one of them in particular. 

“Jill?”

“Hmm?”

“I like your hair.” The older girl smiled and reached up to touch the trimmed edges lightly before replying,

“Thank you, I like yours as well.” Gwen liked it when people liked her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued in part II ---)


End file.
